


The Secret of Good Taste

by MorriganFearn



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuuin no Tsurugi | Fire Emblem: Sword of Seals, Fire Emblem: Rekka no Ken
Genre: Family, Gen, Intrigue, between games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-02
Updated: 2014-05-02
Packaged: 2018-01-21 15:29:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1555280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorriganFearn/pseuds/MorriganFearn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarine has opinions on almost everything, and Erk is sure that he was never like this when he was younger. Still, he has news to bear to the Reglay household, even if that news might disappoint the little girl's ideas of what is proper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Secret of Good Taste

**Author's Note:**

> Done for FE-Fest Spring-Summer 2014 prompt: Clarine lectures big brother Erk about how to have as much finesse as Klein.

It was a little unnerving to face the intensity of Lord Pent's dedication to research compressed into the form of a seven year old girl and focused entirely upon Erk's sartorial decisions. By the end of the entree course, Erk had begun to regret the visit for more reasons than the bad news he must bear to the household. Now he was being guided back to Clarine's nursery by the young girl and discovering far too many stairs existed between the great hall and the current location of Lady Louise.

Clarine stopped for the third time under one of the lanterns that marked the confused snarl of hallway junctions that were the hallmark of the original Reglay manor. Erk had once mapped out the corridors complete with the secret passages that had come into vogue at the time of one of the expansions of the manor, and discovered that there were several patterns he more normally associated with fire casting rambling through the manor's interior.

Lord Pent had asked him to look into who had designed them that way and why, when he brought this to his teacher's attention, but that had been years ago. Erk wondered if the lines of the hallways had been changed significantly when the current lord and lady had redone the manor to suit their growing family.

“It's not that your coloring is so bad,” Clarine conceded thoughtfully. “It's that you insist upon a shade of red that does nothing to compliment your hair. If you wish to make a statement, gold or a splash of green would serve you much more readily. Your colors are a little too intense for the standard use of light blue on fair skin and warmer tinged hair, but you could look quite striking in black or somber colors I suppose.”

“You are a wealth of information, Lady Clarine.”

Had he said that earlier? Perhaps, for the girl glared at him, and then raised her eyebrows in superiority. “It's too bad my brother has gone off to training just now. He would be able to show you—his complexion suits light blue admirably, but he carries off royal purple just as well. Obviously, you could not get such a shade—”

Erk decided to interrupt as amiably as he could manage. “That would be improper, Lady Clarine, I have not the rank. And Even Lord Pent is a little far from the throne for—”

“But the darker purple favored by the royal knights would do. Indeed, you have the rank to match the lowest of them. But do not go violet. You must not go violet. There is too much blue in your hair and eyes,” Clarine continued as though he had not spoken. At least she continued walking, as well. “Do you know, Brother Erk, what it is that royal knights do?”

“Serve the kingdom,” Erk replied vaguely, surprised by the change in title when he had been Lord Erk through out dinner, or Baronet Petit-Reimi.

The sigh from the little head traipsing ahead of him suggested that Clarine was not impressed by this information. “Well, obviously. I mean, what is it they _do_?”

Of Erk's many avenues of study—ever expanding, since he decided to take a step into the Etrurian court—the daily routine of the knights who were sworn to King Mordred and his house was basically a mystery. He should investigate that. Perhaps if he saw a guard loitering where he should not be, he might learn something about which factions and which houses had a direct stake in the kingdom's security. At the very least, he might learn how the Prince managed so often to slip out of the castle and have adventures in the rougher parts of Aquelia after the castle curfew began. Only the royal knights or the servants could be letting him out, and since it was the gossip of a few select servants that they saw him returning after the Reflections bell, chances were the knights were housing the true culprit. Or culprits.

“I know they guard the king, and run his messages, and lead his personal troops in battle. Some act as representatives of the king in absentia, and visit estates and manors while the king is busy in the capitol,” Erk mused, hoping this filled the void in Clarine's knowledge. “They are assigned to other members of the Royal house, to preform similar services. When there is a problem with bandits out of Bern, or Ilia, or pirates in the rivers, they are sent out to deal with the trouble. If something in the Northern Plains gets so disrupted that the repercussions are felt in Ilia and beyond, they are usually among the first to investigate, so that the great trade houses of the capitol may prosper. The Royal Knights do lots of things.”

“Oh. They must be very busy, then,” Clarine reflected. “Maybe too busy. I will write to the king, and tell him that when my brother is knighted, he must not be sent hither, thither and yon. After all, we will have done without his company for so long by that point. He has been away at training for every summer for the last three years, and now this latest round has been at least two months now, by my counting. And I am very good at counting. My tutors have praised me extensively in that area.”

She cast a look over her shoulder, as though to see if Erk was suitably impressed. He nodded seriously. If there was one thing about Clarine that he had gathered from the dinner conversation, it was that she was alarming her tutors with the rate of her knowledge acquisition. There had been hints that he might soon be needed, though the local priest, a young man with an eager-to-please smile, had nearly jumped upon Erk's carefully noncommittal answer as a refusal and offered, yet again, apparently, to teach Clarine Eliminean healing practices as part of her theology lessons. Given the way the household priest glared at the young man, this offer was not universally approved of, though Lady Louise had been nodding right along with her parish confessor.

Still, Erk didn't want to imagine what Clarine's idea of a strict letter to the King would be like. King Mordred was a tolerant monarch, and might even enjoy the directness of the youngest Reglay. His seneschal, however, would probably be offended by the extra work, and find some way to make Klein's knighting ceremony take too long, or worse, disrupt the vigil, and cause rumors to spread through the older courtiers that it was an omen of the young lord's abundant youth, lack of responsibility, or whatever it was that the people who disliked the power of House Reglay wanted to hear.

“I believe the king knows well enough,” Erk managed.

Clarine stood on tiptoe, reaching for a door handle she didn't have to reach for any more. It must be a habit. “Well, if you're sure.”

“What should he be sure of, dear?” Lady Louise called from within the nursery, causing her daughter to readily toss the heavy door aside and dash to her mother's lap.

Erk entered more sedately. The nursery was a thing of soft shadows and dim glows this late at night. Lady Louise had brought the candles close to the fainting couch that took up one corner, blocks and fabric scattered around it like memories of an even younger time. Erk was certain examples of Clarine's work in embroidery were hung on the walls, or whichever aspect of her studies most brightly displayed her talents. Perhaps color wheels by a painting instructor. Or some sort of numerical exercise. But for now, Clarine's endeavors were lost in shadows.

“Brother Erk thinks that the King knows how important Klein is to the realm,” Clarine told her mother from the curl of her lap. “What are you working on? I want to see.”

“I'm trying to come up with ideas for the gift to the King's house at the knighting ceremony,” Louise explained, moving a book that had been resting by her side. “A good house takes into account who they will be serving. You and your brother will mostly serve under King Mordred's heir, so our gift should be something valuable to Prince Mildain, as well.”

Clarine grabbed at the book, and ran her small fingers along the leather. “He's the one who wanted to take Klein away, right?”

“That was years ago, Clarine,” her mother said with more firmness than usual. “And you can't stop Klein from becoming his knight, just as he can't make Klein become his brother. Erk, please sit down.”

Erk eyed the portion of the horsehair couch Lady Louise was patting with distrust. He remembered that couch of old, in Lord Pent's study. It looked plump and pleasant and then slid unsuspecting young mages right onto the floor, when they were ready to sit and read in front of the wide windows. Still, he bowed, and took his spot with care. He knew he looked more like a nervous bird, perching on the edge of a twig that might choose to dip at the wrong moment, and throw him off.

“Brother Erk,” Clarine murmured, peering at the book carefully. “Is a bell book an appropriate gift from a noble family?”

“If it is thoughtfully illuminated,” Erk responded. “It also depends how old the book is, and who has owned it before.”

“I believe this one comes from my husband's mother's family,” Lady Louise smiled. “She was known for her musicality, and there are many devotional songs—and many corrections in her hand. She was very determined that things must be just so. Is that not right, Clarine?”

Clarine flipped the book open, eager to see what her grandmother might have had to say about the rightness of things. “Well, getting things done properly is important.”

“Of course,” smiled her mother. “Speaking of which, Erk, what have you been getting done, properly or improperly?”

“I was recently traveling along the Bern borderland, and went to stay with a friend in the western mountains,” Erk replied. “While I was there, the rumors were confused, to say the least. It seems King Desmond had, at some level, taken steps to disinherit his heir, or at least rename his heir. I am not certain that it can be so easily done. Despite some knowledge of Bern's inheritance ceremony, which we both have, it is unclear if there is serious magic involved, or an appeal to Father Sky. Once a ruler is accepted by the Fire Emblem, can they be disinherited? No one aside from the heirs of Bern have been through the full ceremony, and there have been very few magicians in the royal line to investigate whether there is a magical binding of any kind placed on the heirs. If there is anything more to the inheritance ceremony than spoken word, that secret would rest in Bern. Even if magic is involved, it could be that Princess Guinevere was also accepted by the Emblem. The throne might recognize multiple heirs.

“The laws of Bern are very strict on the matter: Guinevere is an acknowledged child. She has all the rights of her brother under law, except those that are retained by age and experience. The throne belongs in Hartmut's line, until the line dies out, and there are hundreds of procedures in place to determine which families come next, probably to avoid the exact situation we have in Etruria every few generations.

“I can tell you that as Bern law stands, the heirs to the throne were Zephiel and then Guinevere, in that order. Zephiel had undergone the inheritance ceremony, making him the heir presumptive. Guinevere had not, as far as I know, which made her the heir potential, but not capable of ascending to the throne until the ceremony had been preformed. For each of them, the power and legitimacy of their rule would pass to their spouses, should they be married, and the spouses do not need to take part in any ceremony beyond holy marriage.

“I believe that there is some law barring those not of Hartmut's bloodline from the ceremony in the first place, but that depends upon a reading of the earliest laws of Bern, the oldest of which remain in the original draconic script educated humans of the time used. There is a word which means shame, secret, or sin which is used in the early description of the ceremony, and there is a lot of talk about family duty and the building of countries upon this single word, which, given the contexts that the Bernians of old were using it in, they seemed to think meant inheritance. Either the monks of the time had the same sterling sense of humor that we accuse the general populace of Bern of having today, or they were cobbling together what they had learned from the dragons and trying to make their best attempt with their own illiteracy.

“These documents were written nearly a full generation after the Scourging, while Hartmut lay on his death bed, so that the transition between rulers might be smoother in the coming generations. Draconic script was already being replaced by the vernacular script in Bern, and Ilia, mostly to facilitate trade with Sacae, which had several written forms at the time, and already kept records in their tally writing,” Erk gave a little cough, sensing that Lady Louise' interest had not lessened. To be perfectly frank his forays into the Bernian scholar's library had been the only pleasing part of his trip. For a man of the western mountains, his friend collected extensive records of Sacaen trading schedules, apparently as part of a project to map the rise and fall of various tribes in the Plains over history.

“This is why, according to my friend, the current vernacular script of Bern is known among scholars as Fractur. As it is a fractured script caught between the simple lines of the trade vernacular that is used throughout Elibe today, the draconic flourishes those monks were unable to retire, and a version of the Sacaen numerical system Sacaens today think is outdated. Draconic script lasted in Etruria and Lycia several centuries longer, but when the switch was made to a firm vernacular script, we skipped many of the stylizations that continued in Bern for a version that closely resembles the trade script popular in Sacae.”

Lady Louise nodded. “How interesting, Erk. I see you have not lost your knack for investigating questions to their bitter conclusion. However, you were telling me whether or not Desmond is within his right to disinherit Zephiel in favor of the Princess Guinivere.”

Erk coughed again. As hints went, it had been subtle enough, but coming from Lady Louise, a woman who had once listened to him listing the variations in mint as grown along the rivers of Etruria, organized by river size, longitudinal distance from Aquelia, and distance to magician's workrooms for three hours without complaint, the suggestion to come around to the point was firm. “My friend's library was not as helpful as it could have been with the answer as to whether or not the inheritance ceremony must be performed after Hartmut's family has died out. If the ceremony is applicable only to his family members, it is likely that it is not _necessary_ to have gone through it in order to sit on the throne of Bern. However, my friend believes that since provision had been made for the death of the bloodline, it was unreasonable to assume that the fire emblem was keyed only to those with the right blood, particularly given how diluted that must be. In essence, my lady, I cannot tell you if the king is allowed to disinherit one of his children in favor of the other, particularly if the other has not undergone the ceremony to make her an heir.”

Lady Louise had been given a nature that was more inclined to contemplation behind an aspect of calm acceptance, but Erk noticed her eyebrows drawing together. “There always has been the possibility that Bern's next monarch would be the princess and not the prince. Much as I hate to say it, though, my concern is with my cousin, and not her son. He has, if I understand your reports over the last few years, allies and friends enough within his own country. Hellene's faction is much smaller. So, how is the queen reacting to the news?”

Erk pinched the bridge of his nose, and glanced at Lady Louise. With Clarine curled happily in her lap she made quite the picture of calm and bliss. It seemed a far cry from the chaos of facts and rumors that the various messengers out of Bern had brought within the final fortnight of his travel away from the border. “That I also cannot say for certain. While I was with my friend, information reached us, as it had all friends of the queen, that she was being sent back to her estates in Etruria by her husband. As you instructed so long ago I made the arrangements for servants and guards for her journey, so that she might at least reach her home alive. I left immediately to make my way here, to give you the news, and gain Lord Pent's aid, if at all possible.

“However, as I came into the river country, a messenger overtook me, saying that the queen had been taken as a conspirator and a traitor—though whether she had plotted against the king, or poisoned her own son,” Erk paused, wishing that the horror creeping into Lady Louise's eyes was a trick of the candlelight. He revised the worst of the rumors about the queen's fate. They did not matter now. “It was impossible to get a straight answer out of the man. He did say she was locked in the old Manse pending trial.”

Lady Louise drew in a breath. Erk could see a determination forming, even in the dim light of the candles. If Lord Pent and Lady Louise were not, as far as the Lady of House Reglay was concerned, going to pay a special visit to the southeast, Erk was very much mistaken. He hurried on with the most baffling part of the last three months.

“Last night, a third messenger found me, on his way to the capitol, to say that Duchess Hellene of Etruria was being sent back to her estates in Etruria, after a terrible ordeal that had left her in poor health. The person sending her back was the King Bern, one _Zephiel_ of the line of Hartmut. He will be accepting formal fealty from his holdings in midwinter, as the newly ascended rulers of Bern do, but was requesting a change in ambassadors from Etruria immediately, as the old ambassador had a long standing disagreement with Bern's head bishop, and bringing peace to the court in troubled times was his new goal.”

Lady Louise sat back, and the slump of Clarine's shoulders as she did suggested that despite valiant effort, the youngest Reglay had fallen asleep. “Hellene will still need an escort. And if she has not arrived through the pass by November, we must see that she gets through.”

Erk glanced nervously at Clarine. “Do you think—Desmond might have tortured her? The word of ill-health seemed unfortunately credible. She is Zephiel's mother, and there would be little reason for a messenger sent from Zephiel's court to lie.”

“Or, the former king is alive, and awaiting execution,” Lady Louise said with the same calm she might have used to discuss Erk's choice in cloak, and whether it would be reasonable for the weather. “And Zephiel did not wish his mother to witness that. I understand that in Bern the whole family must watch, barring extraordinary circumstances, like travel time. Or it might be a host of reasons. Perhaps Hellene is not leaving Bern at all. We will only know when we meet with her, either at our border, or beyond.”

Erk nodded slowly. “I do not think I can go with you, my lady. I had a few projects going in the court when I decided to check on the situation in Bern. I would like to check on them, and, frankly, if you go into Bern, it would be suspicious if I came back within the season to visit my friend with the former Mage General of Etruria and his wife along with me. You would be welcomed by the Bishop of Ostienberg—I did make mention that he might be gaining exalted guests, as Lord Pent thought much of his scholarship, and had been meaning to pay him a call for years now.”

“Oh?”

Erk sighed. “His library is one any scholar would envy, even if documents from the century of the Scourging are not the goal of your visit. His interest is not so much for the Queen—though he has certainly valued the Etrurian trade that came with her, and the access to men from the Holy Tower that were a by product of the alliance—but with the former Prince, now supposed King, Zephiel. He will have at least some of the news that you seek.”

Louise sighed, and then gently pushed Clarine on the shoulder. “Is that book acceptable, for the king and his son, do you think, dear?”

“Acceptable,” Clarine repeated muzzily. “You're not still talking about words, are you?”

“No indeed. Brother Erk is going to take you to bed now.”

Clarine slid reluctantly from her mother's lap, leaving the book behind her. “Why can't you do it?”

“Because I will be traveling, soon, and I must pack,” Louise laid a hand on her daughter's long golden hair. Her smile, though gentle, pulled her eyebrows together, and Erk suddenly wondered how much sadness she was hiding behind that simple expression. “Your father and I must go to see friends near Bern.

“But,” Clarine scowled and counter on her fingers. “That is a three week journey to there, and we are nearly five days from Aquelia, even by barge. Klein might be knighted before we get back. We cannot go to Bern! It is unthinkable!”

As if by some unspoken signal, both Louise and Erk crouched, so that they were at eye level with the young girl. Louise passed Erk the family bell book over Clarine's shoulder. “This errand cannot wait, I am afraid. But you will not be going with us. Erk will be presenting the gift in our stead, and you will have to be very responsible, since you will be the Lady Reglay at Klein's knighting ceremony.”

Clarine's mouth puckered into a long pout. “But, Klein will be sad—”

“Not if he sees his little sister, who he loves very much,” Lady Louise said very softly. “And, who knows? Your father and I might make it back to Aquelia before the ceremony. But even if we do, we are counting on you to be the lady of support and guidance to your brother on his big day. Can you do that?”

The slow nod released Lady Louise to kiss her daughter on the forehead, and rise. Her expression, wistful but determined, reminded Erk of the days when he had a room in this rambling manor to call his own. How often had his own time under this roof been marked by unusual journeys, and had those journeys taken a toll on his childhood? He had always been old enough to travel with the Reglays wherever he was needed, but in Lady Louise's face, he could see the important moments missed because duty to magic and friends always took priority over the family. It hadn't mattered to him, back then.

Erk reached out for Clarine's hand. “Come along. We have several days of preparation ahead of us.”

As he rose, Clarine looked up the line of their arms, and a small smile broke over her face. “You're almost graceful enough to make it all better. This is exactly the way Big Brother Klein would handle this.”

“I take that as a great compliment,” Erk smiled back, leading Clarine toward her bedroom, which he knew had once been his.

**Author's Note:**

> Erk's dork brigade digression into how writing systems might have developed in Elibe is mostly Erk being a big dork, and me making fun of the way medieval monks who didn't have the finest grasp on Latin and Greek tried to record things. In some cases, they just made up words and conjugations based on half remembered things, creating interesting hybrids of Latin and other languages, in others we're pretty certain that the monks of yore in Western Europe were trying to preserve monastic secrets and were writing things intentionally in cipher or writing them down incorrectly in some way.
> 
> And for those who aren't font dorks, fraktur is the font that was very popular in Germany, and is generally known as old German print form, named for its fractured strokes. Here's Yale's University library section on Fraktur http://www.library.yale.edu/cataloging/music/fraktur.htm (very pink, Clarine approves). Please note the link to the article entitled "what does this blasted thing say?"


End file.
